


Our Battle

by onceuponanovel



Category: Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Barneswald - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clara is patient and kind when no one else is, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, clara just being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 04:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponanovel/pseuds/onceuponanovel
Summary: After someone dished out some abuse to my muse, it really stuck with me. Then turned it into inspiration. ;)-After dealing with a verbal attack about his past, Clara reminds Bucky she's always there.





	Our Battle

(Some inspiration goes to this [picture](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/0f/5a/80/0f5a80422015abf16364bded6cd08bfb.jpg).)

Seated on the edge of the cushion, elbows on his knees and hands covering his face, fingers reaching the hairline and frustration want to rake through his hair. Paralyzed however is the best feeling he can equate at the moment. He knew it. Shaking his head, groaning in frustration… He knows it. Knows it. Knows who he is and what he’s done. He didn’t need to be reminded by anyone. The past, the puzzle pieces from his Winter Soldier days were there with him like an ominous cloud. Alas as he sits there in the room alone, the words _psycho assassin_ and _you’re worthless_ ring in his ears tearing him to shreds.

The longer Bucky sits like this in the darkened room, lips mumbling those words again and again… no matter how he tried to combat it with the little mantra _I am not nothing_. It was futile.

After life had settled down, putting his years under the puppet strings of HYDRA behind him, that he may just get the second chance. Though the world often reminded him that he isn’t the kind who is deserving of the second or third or even fourth chances. Lost cause is how people best like to put it. Hope was a term not used for him. The only time he didn’t feel so much like a lost cause is whenever he had her close. She gave him hope when there was none present.

Nights were always the worst. Always. Though Clara was there as soon as he showed any sign of torment from the visions that haunted him, she was there with her small arms surrounding him till the tremors dissipated and calm him like no one else could. With one of her hugs everything could be righted and bearing the burden of his past a little easier. Then drawing him into an embrace lasting till morning and finally sleep called.

Today had been just a reminder of how he’s still trying to forge a new path, his own path and do so with Clara by his side. Something that still was a mystery. How she could handle the brunt of the being bound to a former assassin was beyond him. It plagues him still as he sits there thinking about the unlimited compassion towards him.

This state that has taken hold of him, he doesn’t hear the key in the door, nor the gentle accented singsong voice, or the change in pitch from the cheery sound to one of worry when she spots him in such a position. There is never any fear compared to those who have found him in such a morose spirits. They had been lessening, yet these words echoing in his mind make him crumble.

A soft brush of fingers at his temple, to push back the shroud of his shaggy hair falling with him as he leans forward. Clara’s hand slips down to the back of his neck where the tension lies. At this he lets his hands drop from his face, yet a blank expression of despondency remains. He can feel her taking a seat beside him, “What happened?” soft spoken to keep the situation calm. When he offers up no reply, she leans in to bring her lips to his temple in a calming nature. Everything about her would need strict order and control, yet with him Clara never pushes, never startles him, only wishing to ease this turmoil inside him.

“Come here,” Clara moves downward to the other end of the sofa and the hand at his neck gently goes to his shoulder coax him along. “You don’t have to say anything.” That didn’t mean she would leave him to face his demons alone. The times he’d insisted this wasn’t her battle she would smart off with, “Like hell it is. It’s both our battle.”

So even if Clara left him with the choice to retreat into his own self induced prison locked away with the haunted glimpses into the years when he would kill ruthlessly, he knew that’s not what he wanted. He wanted peace although at times it felt unattainable. He wanted a life with her. A real life and her entice him into her arms wasn’t something he struggled against. Her calming touch has him seeking her in return.

Tucking her legs to beneath her to create a pillow like she has done so many times before, instinctively he eases down to to lay the side of his head to her lap as he lay on his belly. Closing his eyes hoping to shut out the negativity. The soft strokes of her fingers through his hair to sooth him. This magic Clara has to ward off his terrors, the way she visited him in the haze during captivity. She always broke through just as she is now.

“Doll?” his lids open a sliver as he sees the tips of his artificial hand hand just a hair away from coming in contact with her skin. Hesitant as he detests allowing this brand of HYDRA to come near her, the want and need to bring his arm around her legs to draw her close wins over. “Why are you still here…?” _Why do you stay?_ is what lodges in the back of his throat already dry, that his voice cracks as he speaks.

“Shh,” Clara coos lowering herself to rest against him, her fingers continue to weave through the strands of his hair. Unconsciously he breathes out a contented sigh. Keeping her voice calm, feeling the tenderness of her lips through the fabric of his shirt to his shoulder along the line between metal and flesh and bone. “I love you, y’know.”

While the desire for sleep to take over, despite the serum that coursed through his veins for decades now, each and every time he faced these ghosts haunting him (and rightfully so in his eyes) it left him drained.

Drowsily he asks, “But why?”

“I don’t need a reason to love ya, Bucky,” she giggles at his inquiry as if it were obvious. “Do you need a reason to love me?”

He hadn’t ever thought of it this way. “No,” agreeing with her once more. He had always loved her. Before his evolution into the monster HYDRA created, that love wasn’t something they could erase. A faint smirk forms on his lips, “Do you ever tire of being right all the time?”

  
“No, why would I?” this time he feels her lips brush against his temple. “Besides I always am.”

He wouldn’t argue with that. Though he wouldn’t argue with her about much of anything either.The faint smirk grows into a grin as he allows the gentleness she exudes and her soft strokes through his hair to sooth him. Again, she manages to do the impossible and replaces the pandemonium with tranquility. 


End file.
